Chapter 4 - THE BLUFF
Z
The words hung in the damp air of the car, cold and final.
I didn't scream. I didn't reach for the door handle. I sat frozen, my mind working at hyper-speed, processing the reality of the trap.
"What do you mean there's no resort?" I managed to say, forcing my voice to tremble just enough to play the role of the terrified, confused victim.
Julian slowly leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving mine. "I mean we aren't spending three nights at a spa, Evelyn. We're completing this transaction tonight. You sign the authorization, we drive to the town notary in Harbor Point who is waiting for us, and then you and I are going to have a very serious conversation about the rest of our lives."
"And if I don't sign it?"
Julian reached out, his long fingers gently tracing the line of my jaw. The touch made my skin crawl, but I forced myself not to pull away.
"You're a practical woman, Eve," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "You've always been smart. Smart people don't let sentimentality ruin incredible opportunities. Your father is dead. That land is sitting there doing nothing. With that capital, I can set us up in South America. We can buy a villa in Mendoza. We can leave all this behind."
We. He was still selling the illusion of a shared future, but I knew the pattern now. Once the power of attorney was signed and notarized, Evelyn Hart would become an unnecessary liability. A tragic accident on a slippery cliff path during a storm. A grieving husband inheriting everything.
"I left my glasses in my coat in the trunk," I lied, my voice steady now. "I can't read the fine print without them."
Julian smiled—a cold, empty bending of his lips. "Nice try, Eve. You don't wear reading glasses."
He reached into his jacket pocket. For a terrifying second, I thought he was pulling a weapon. Instead, he pulled out a small glass vial and a pre-filled syringe.
My heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"What is that?" I gasped, pressing my back against the passenger door.
"It's insurance," Julian said calmly, unbuckling his seatbelt. "You've been acting distant all morning. The call at the hotel. The fake dispute with the caterer. You think I didn't notice you checking the rearview mirror every ten miles on the highway?"
He grabbed my left wrist with a grip like iron.
"You're smart, Eve. But you're not an actor," he hissed, leaning across the center console, pressing his weight against me. "Who did you talk to at the hotel?"
"Nobody!" I lied, fighting against his grip, my feet kicking against the floorboards. "It was the hotel!"
"Liar!" he barked, his face inches from mine. The refined, polite gentleman was completely gone; the monster beneath had taken full control. "Vivienne saw the police cruiser parked two streets over from the hotel when we left. She called me from the airport terminal. You brought them into this, didn't you?"
He raised the syringe, aiming for the exposed side of my neck.
Panic exploded in my chest. I didn't think; I reacted. I slammed my right hand into my purse, wrapping my fingers around the small metal canister of tactical pepper spray I always carried for night shifts during federal audits.
I brought it up and sprayed him directly in the eyes at point-blank range.
Julian let out a guttural, furious scream as the concentrated capsicum hit his face. He dropped the syringe, his hands instantly flying to his blinding, burning eyes.
"Bitch!" he roared, thrashing wildly in the confined space of the car.
I slammed my elbow against the door lock, shoved the passenger door open, and tumbled out onto the wet gravel, scraping my hands and knees. Rain had begun to fall, hard and heavy, blurring my vision as I scrambled to my feet.
The wind off the ocean blew with violent force, tearing at my hair. I looked back. Julian was stumbling out of the driver's side door, wiping wildly at his eyes with his sleeve, cursing coherently through the agony.
"Evelyn!" he screamed into the storm, his voice echoing off the rocks. "You won't make it off this point! There's nothing out here!"
I didn't answer. I turned and ran into the darkness, sprinting down the narrow dirt path that led toward the old bait shop.
The terrain was treacherous—loose rock, thick brush, and steep drop-offs into the churning sea below. My wedding shoes were useless; I kicked them off, running barefoot across the sharp stones, pain shooting up my legs with every step.
Behind me, I heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of his footsteps. Even partially blinded, he knew this terrain. He had scouted it. He had planned this.
Up ahead, the dark, weathered silhouette of my father's old bait shop emerged from the rain. It was a two-story wooden structure built on wooden pilings over the water, connected to the mainland by a rotting wooden pier. The windows were boarded up, the door secured with a heavy iron padlock.
I ran onto the wooden pier, the wet planks slippery beneath my bare feet.
I reached the door of the bait shop and grabbed the padlock. Locked.
"Evelyn!"
Julian’s voice was closer now. He was at the entrance of the pier, his eyes bloodshot and swollen, a bloody cut across his cheek where he had stumbled into the brush. In his right hand, he held a long, steel crowbar he had pulled from the trunk of the car.
"There's nowhere left to run, Eve," he spat, wiping rain and blood from his eyes as he walked slowly down the narrow pier toward me. "It didn't have to be like this. We could have made this clean. But you had to be clever."
I backed up until my shoulders hit the rough, weather-beaten wood of the building. To my left and right, the dark ocean raged twenty feet below, crashing against the wooden pilings with terrifying force.
"They know who you are, Victor!" I yelled over the sound of the wind and rain. "The FBI! State police! They know about Clara Mercer! They know about Oregon!"
Julian froze for a fraction of a second at the mention of Clara’s name. A dark, hideous grin spread across his face.
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"Clara was weak," he sneered, taking another step forward, raising the crowbar. "She cried. She begged. Just like you're about to do. Do you really think those cops are going to find you out here in time? By the time they locate this car, you'll be floating ten miles out in the Atlantic stream. An unfortunate tragic accident. The grieving husband will escape again."
He lunged forward, swinging the heavy steel bar straight for my head.
